


Bound Until Death

by LittleIvy



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Assassination, Dark Brotherhood Questline, F/M, Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Imprisonment, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Murder, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2020-03-09 14:10:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18918607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleIvy/pseuds/LittleIvy
Summary: When a Breton huntress confronts Vittoria Vici’s assassin, she comes away with his glove and a target on her back. Forced into helping the Dark Brotherhood complete a contract that will put the fate of Skyrim in the balance, Laelynn must adapt to their ruthless way of life or become one of their victims.The assassins around her are dangerous and destructive, but Laelynn has secrets of her own. How will she escape the Dark Brotherhood when her violent past threatens to consume her?





	1. Till Death Do Us Part

Winter closed in like a noose. The marsh stretched for miles, bleak and frostbitten, incapable of supporting life larger than mudcrabs and skinny hares. She saw one grazing on the brittle remains of grass and levelled an arrow at it. She missed, her arrow embedding itself in the boggy earth with a muffled sucking sound. 

 

Her hunting bow dug uncomfortably into her side when she bent to retrieve it, pressing at her empty stomach. The hunger made her weak. She had to rest for a moment at the edge of a frost-crusted pond. A pale-skinned, dark-haired woman peered back at her when she leaned over the murky water. She startled. When had she gotten so thin? She ran her fingers over her cheeks, feeling the skull beneath her skin. Her stomach gurgled. She forced herself to her feet and kept walking.

 

The mud sucked greedily at her thick-soled boots but never swallowed them, for she had long since learned the safest ways through the marsh. Every rock and half-submerged log was as familiar to her as her own calloused, scar-flecked hands. She approached a snare she had set underneath a scraggly snowberry bush. The entire plant quivered and twitched in time to the throes of whatever she had caught. She crushed deathbells beneath her knees, bending down to pull the lowermost branches aside.

 

A snowy fox stared forlornly up at her. She stared back. Another pang of hunger shot through her gut. The fox remained oddly silent while she worked to gently tease the snare from its back foot. It scrambled away, disappearing with a flick of its tail into the marsh.

 

Her other snares were empty, and it began to rain. She sloshed through the muck on her way back to the city, shivering beneath her wet woollen clothing. The Blue Palace loomed on the mountainside, looking more grey than blue between the slanting sheets of rain. She climbed the hill to the city gates and merged with the crowd.

 

Rainwater had dislodged waste and sewage, making the streets reek. She wiped at her streaming eyes. Despite the stench and the rain, dozens flocked the streets of Solitude, gathering in clumps beneath the tiled awnings. Brushing against a finely dressed woman on her way to the market square earned her a disdainful sniff.

 

“Keep your dirty boots away from my gown.” The woman yanked the folds of her skirt away. “I am attending the wedding of the Emperor’s cousin!”

 

Had hunger not made her light-headed, she may have felt a flicker of embarrassment for her uncombed hair and tattered clothing. She muttered an apology and twisted away, hurrying her pace. The streets were grey and streaked with filth, but the banners strung overhead brought splashes of colour to the dull sky. 

 

“Laelynn!” A Nord called out to her from behind one of the market stalls. “Everyone’s packing up for the wedding… I thought for certain the vampires got you, you’re so late.”

 

Laelynn smiled thinly, leaning up against the wooden counter. “No luck with the snares today, Addvar.”

 

A logbook lay face up between them; Laelynn read the date scrawled in his messy hand.  _ 22nd of Sun’s Dusk, 4E 209.  _ Addvar ran a hand over his chin, which was covered in patchy stubble. He was not an old man, but the approaching winter had left him haggard.

 

“Ah, well.” He slid a paper-wrapped parcel across the counter. “Not all the fish have migrated.”

 

Laelynn twitched one corner of the wrapping up to see cubes of seared salmon steak. Her stomach rumbled but she half-heartedly pushed it back. “Addvar, I couldn’t…”

 

Addvar pressed it into her hand with a stern look. “If it keeps you from stealing or begging, it’s worth losing a few Septims.” He nodded pointedly over her shoulder. Laelynn turned to see a pair of street urchins slip loaves of bread from a cloth covered barrel before slinking away into the crowd. “You haven’t come to see me in two days, and that usually means you haven’t eaten. Take it.”

 

She tucked the food into her pocket. “Thank you, Addvar.”

 

“Now get out of here!” He shooed her off and continued packing up his stall. “The wedding will be starting soon.”

 

People clung to the sides of buildings, keeping out of the rain on their way to the Temple of the Divines. Laelynn hopped onto a low wall so that she was a head and shoulders taller than the press of wedding-goers. Her clothing was already sodden; a little more rain wouldn’t do any harm. A high-pitched squeal speared through the crowd and made Laelynn’s eye twitch. She turned to see a woman with jewellery dripping from every digit fussing over her mud-flecked skirts.

 

“I can’t be seen in public like this!” the woman lamented to the ladies around her.

 

A small, quiet part of Laelynn’s mind—the one not occupied with surviving day to day—felt a glimmer of resentment. She pressed a hand to her aching stomach and trudged after them.

 

The rancid smell that had hit her when she first entered the city gradually faded to the spicy scent of winter blooms. They coated the long, zigzagging path through the upper city, bent against the rain. Laelynn absently plucked a few stems as she passed. The river of people emptied into the Temple courtyard, with the better-dressed half disappearing behind a set of heavy stone doors. That left the rest of them milling on the tiles, along with birds that preened themselves in the gathering puddles.

 

Laelynn climbed one of the walls while the rain continued to patter down. Once or twice her boots slipped on the treacherously slick stone, but eventually, she was perched over the Temple courtyard. She swung her legs over the edge and ran a thumb over the silver pendant hanging around her neck. No matter how deep the pit in her stomach grew, she would never sell it.

 

The salmon steaks likely had a taste to them, but Laelynn didn’t register it as she wolfed them down. Soon her stomach was uncomfortably full. She groaned and leaned back, taking the pressure off her gut.

 

A head popped up over the lip of the wall and made her jump.

 

 “I finished my dragon carving!” A young boy grinned up at her, brandishing a hunk of wood. He heaved himself up with his other arm and plopped next to her on the stone. “Now my Dragonborn can do battle!”

 

The boy fished another crudely carved piece of wood from his pocket and began smashing the two together. A small smile tugged at the corner of Laelynn’s mouth while she watched a hawk wheeling through the clearing rainclouds.

 

“Hey, Laelynn?”

 

She hummed and raised her eyebrows. The boy had stopped playing with his carvings, staring down at them with a slight crease between his brows. His short cropped hair and the hard lines of his face made him look older than his ten years.

 

“Do you think the Dragonborn will ever return?”

 

The taste of salmon steaks turned bitter in her mouth. Her gaze turned south-east to where the Throat of the World loomed far in the distance, its lonely peak soaring above the surrounding mountains and slicing through the receding clouds. She was seized with a sudden urge to fly as freely as that wheeling hawk.

 

“I don’t think so, Blaise.” Babbling voices floated up to where they sat perched on the wall. Wedding guests poured into the courtyard, drawing her attention for a moment. “Being the Dragonborn is a dangerous business. I think one of his quests got the better of him.”

 

“He’ll come back.” Blaise examined his wooden toys and huffed out a quiet breath. “He has to.”

 

Laelynn twirled the flowers between her fingers, releasing their scent into the air. Blaise looked darkly down at his carvings, fidgeting with them. Then his face lightened and he pointed down at the courtyard.

 

“Look! Here comes Vittoria!”

 

Laelynn followed his hand to the woman gliding from the Temple of the Divines. A long train flowed behind her like a crimson river, supported by the doting hands of maidservants. Even with such weak sunlight peeking through the clouds, the bride seemed to glow. Was this what marital bliss was like? Laelynn could scarcely remember her own parents, but she was certain that they had never seemed this happy. Blaise sat right on the edge of the wall, practically vibrating from excitement. She grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him away from the edge.

 

“She’s so beautiful…” Blaise propped his chin on his hand, smiling dreamily down at the woman as she addressed the crowd. 

 

Laelynn’s attention drifted away. She searched for the hawk, but it had long since disappeared into the clouds. Her gaze was drawn instead to the gargoyles dotted along the walls. One in particular had a long tongue that drooped down past its chin, curling in grotesque loops over its ears. It was that gargoyle that fell, face first, onto Vittoria’s head.

 

Beside her, Blaise let out a wordless shriek. The courtyard erupted.

 

Laelynn watched a fat Breton wrestle other guests in his rush to the exit, trampling anyone who got in the way of his hamlike feet. The others were no better—tearing at other guests and screaming while the assembled guards shouted to one another above the din. 

 

“One thousand Septims to whoever catches that man!”

 

A black-clad figure beat a hasty retreat, weaving between the castle’s upper towers before dropping out of sight. Laelynn raced after them.

 

“Stay here!” she shouted to Blaise, leaving him and her wilted winter flowers behind.

 

_One thousand_ _Septims._ That sounded like food, and clothes, and nice smelling soaps. She jumped from the wall to a lower balcony, with a jarring impact that sent jolts of pain through her legs. The figure had already leapt to the city’s outer wall and was running with alarming, catlike balance along its slippery masonry. One glance over the side had the fish in Laelynn’s stomach swooping unpleasantly. It was a sheer drop, with the earth so far below it was shrouded in swathes of mist.

 

“Hey, stop!” she cried, but the figure—an assassin, she realised numbly—did not miss a step. He nimbly vaulted over a garden wall, sending a flock of birds into the bright grey sky. Laelynn followed, landing and rolling on the wet soil before launching into a full sprint along the main street.  _ One thousand Septims.  _ Her heartbeat sounded like clinking coins in her ears.

 

Up ahead, someone let out a surprised squawk. Laelynn rounded a corner just in time to see the shrouded figure bound over a fallen washerwoman and try to lose himself in the city’s back alleys. Blood pounded in her ears, loud enough to drown out her own footfalls as she veered around a house in close pursuit. Together they flew through a small graveyard, trampling flowers and trinkets for the deceased, before breaking out onto the street again. This assassin was possessed of an almost inhuman swiftness, Laelynn would give him that—but she knew the city of Solitude almost as well as she knew the marshes at its base.

 

While he cut back into a tight alley, Laelynn raced through a vegetable garden until she reached the alley mouth, just a few heartbeats before him. She darted forwards and grabbed ahold of his wrist, but the assassin wrenched free with a startled grunt, leaving Laelynn clutching nothing but a red and black leather glove. With no warning he darted leftwards, towards the south gate, leaving Laelynn to scramble after him into a narrow corridor. Her boots slipped, and in the half second it took to right herself, the assassin was right in her face.

 

SLAM.

 

Laelynn’s back hit unforgiving stone, and she found herself pinned to the wall with a dagger at her throat. Choking on a strangled gasp, her hands instinctively shot up to close around the figure’s bare wrist and keep the blade as far as possible from her fluttering pulse. Dimly, she registered the faint, spicy scent of winter flowers.

 

“Do you want to die?” The assassin ground out in a gruff Nordic tone. “Because that can be arranged.” Merciless blue eyes narrowed themselves on Laelynn’s own and she felt her blood begin to well beneath the sharp blade.

 

“We have no time,” came a voice at the mouth of the corridor. Even cowled, Laelynn could tell that this one was Argonian. The red and black garb hung strangely from his lithe, scaly body. “Leave her and come quickly. The guards won’t stay distracted for long.”

 

The Nord shoved her roughly against the stone but heeded his companion’s words—she could hear their feet on the spiral staircase, taking them down, down, down to the distant shoreline. Her fingers came away bloody when she touched her throat but… by the Divines, she was alive. A breath she didn’t realise she had been holding wheezed out between Laelynn’s teeth, and she allowed herself to slide down and sit against the wall. 

 

In one hand there were droplets of her own blood. In the other, his black and red glove.


	2. Abduction

Icy water dripped from Laelynn’s lashes, back into the stream that snaked its way from Lake Yorgrim in the east to the Sea of Ghosts. Too quick-flowing to gather ice, the water was no less frigid as she finished splashing her face and turned to her red-crusted fingernails. A skinned hare lay nearby, wrapped in its bloody pelt. The blood conjured images of red, lichen-speckled stone and Vittoria’s weakly twitching hand. Her wedding ring had been slick with blood.

 

The shallow cut at the base of her throat had scabbed over in the few days since Vittoria Vici’s wedding. Her fingers ghosted over the wound, rousing a shiver that had nothing to do with the late afternoon chill. His eyes had been so bitterly cold, colder than any hoarfrost, and the sting of his blade at her throat kept Laelynn awake at night. She hadn’t even earned the thousand Septims. She pulled his glove from her pocket; red and black leather, expertly made, with near-invisible seams. A professional’s glove. And a reminder of what could happen to huntresses who stepped beyond their hunting grounds.

 

Skeletal branches scratched at one another in a cruel wind that blew across the marshes. Laelynn drew the folds of her threadbare cloak closer, tucking the glove away before glaring at the darkening horizon. Night came earlier and earlier. Soon, the safety brought by daylight would become nearly as precious as her scant meals. She bent her head against the wind, frost-shrivelled plant life crackling underfoot, and headed back in the direction of the city. Water lapped on all sides, leaves rustled, but it was the snapping of a twig that gave Laelynn pause.

 

Her leg muscles tightened, a deer prepared to bolt. Drajkmyr Marsh lay swathed in mist and covered in twisted, withered husks of trees. Excellent hiding places for creatures of stealth. Laelynn breathed shallowly, hunter’s eyes surveying nearby boulders, and reached for the hilt of her blade. Her hand rested there while she continued walking on stiff legs, maintaining a forced, slow pace even as her skin crawled from unseen eyes. At every sound, she turned, and every time… nothing to be seen. Her steps hastened. 

 

Vampires were known to stalk the marshes, and as winter rose, so did their bravery. Final vestiges of sunlight dappled the rocky ground. Another unnatural sound made Laelynn’s fingers tighten around her dagger. Something moved in the water.

 

She ran so quickly the trees blurred. Throwing herself into the first hollow she came across, Laelynn clutched at the tree roots poking down from above and drew her dagger from its sheath. It had a short, wide blade; good for skinning animals, not so much for combat. Her heart beat a tattoo against her ribs, so violent she could feel it in her throat. The sky darkened to purple then black. 

 

Winter had made the insects drowsy. Laelynn’s ears, straining into the night, were met with an unnerving quiet. Memories of terrified, fireless nights kept her eyes darting around in the dark. She felt the blood pumping through her veins, so keenly aware of every part of her body that the hollowness in her stomach seemed less an ignorable nuisance but a gaping, unfillable void. 

 

Nothing stirred. Laelynn remained alert. Desperation had made her set her snares so far from Solitude, right in Drajkmyr’s heart. The nighttime marsh seethed and pressed in at her from all sides.

 

When Laelynn’s heartbeat finally slowed, the moon had reached its zenith. The wind picked up again, shrieking through the trees and masking the sound of her footsteps. One thousand Septims would have meant she never had to check her snares again. Her feet felt too heavy.

 

One moment, she was picking her way across boggy ground. The next, she had her balance yanked away by a foot hooked around her ankle. Her arms hit the ground first, sending lashes of pain through her from the sensitive nerve at the tips of her elbows. She caught a hint of dark scales beneath a red and black hood before something struck her face, hard.

 

She awoke with a bag pulled over her head that made it difficult to breathe. Her face burned and her teeth ached. How hard had she been struck? She tried an experimental roll of her shoulders, only to be met with the tautness of bindings around her wrists. Terror had yet to claw its way into her lungs. It battled against the grogginess making her sway in place where she knelt on rough ground, hands bound at the small of her back. Small stones scraped against her knees when she shifted in place.

 

She dimly made out a small, candlelit room through the coarse fabric shielding her eyes. Someone knelt close to her right shoulder. She could sense another’s body heat and hear dry, panting breaths. A headache bloomed in her temples and the fear in her stomach bubbled higher.

 

A sultry female voice crossed the room. “Make your choice. Kill one of them, or all of them. I’m waiting.” 

 

The person beside her stiffened and began whimpering as a second, gruffer voice reached them on the hard floor.

 

“I aim to please Sithis, the Dread Father, embodiment of doom, destruction, and discord. I will not disappoint-”

 

“Yes, yes. Get on with it.”

 

Footsteps across floorboards, getting louder. Laelynn fought for control over her quickened breathing. An unsheathed blade, a murmured oath. A gurgled cry right by her ear, followed by hot blood splashing over her knees.

 

“How efficient of you,” the woman drawled in a tone that was cool, cultured, and gloriously bored. “Why don’t you try something a little more imaginative?”

 

When the bag was ripped from Laelynn’s head, a few loose strands of hair went with it. Her eyes watered in the sudden candlelight. She was in a small, ramshackle room. One door; closed but not barred. No windows. A cowled woman lounged on a low rafter, clad head to toe in red and black leather. The stolen glove burned a hole in Laelynn’s pocket.

 

A mammoth of a man loomed over her, blade in hand and a fanatical gleam in his eye. Blood dripped from the dagger’s blade. She refrained from looking at the still-twitching body on her right, glaring up into the man’s face. He leered down at her, brought the metal to his mouth, and licked it.

 

Her repulsion was immediate. Laelynn sprang upwards, quick as a doe, and rammed her shoulder into him. Solid and unrelenting, she was only able to make him stumble back from surprise. It was enough. Disgust replaced the terror in her gut, spurring her on. She launched herself forwards and kicked the door open. Mist pooled around her feet.

 

She had never been so happy to see the marshes unfold before her. She ran blindly, splashing through shallow water, while her lungs burned and dark spots threatened to cloud her vision. A sharp pain in her leg brought her crashing face first into the mud. Hands still bound, Laelynn frantically crawled through the muck on her stomach. Spasming in her calf slowed her down but she inched forwards, every shift of her body agonising over the uneven rocks and sticks. 

 

The scent of brine clogged her nostrils. It drowned everything else, even the sound of the goliath stalking through the marsh towards her. Kneeling down in the bloodsoaked mud, he brought the tip of his dagger up to her cheek and trailed it down to her jaw in a light, idle arc. Even with minimal pressure, Laelynn’s cheek began to smart. She felt a rivulet of blood snake down her neck and soak into the fabric of her shirt.

 

“Where were we?” Laelynn could smell his fetid breath. Cold metal rested just over her pulse. The coils of dread looping around her insides tightened.

 

“Wait.”

 

The man closed his eyes and grunted, but the mounting pressure at her throat eased a fraction. Laelynn could count every hair as his nostrils flared.

 

“If you didn’t want me to kill her, why not just let her get away instead of throwing a knife at her leg?”

 

“Watch your tone.” The woman’s voice speared through the night, but turned into a honeyed purr so quickly, Laelynn was left reeling. “I told you to wait, Paltus, so you will wait.”

 

Grudgingly respectful, Paltus rose to his feet with surprising elegance and took a step back. Through a fog of pain, Laelynn watched the cowled woman approach. Her silhouette blocked out the moon. 

 

“Bring her to the shack,” she instructed, pale eyes flickering over Laelynn in a cursory once over. “Alive.” Then she strolled away. There wasn’t a speck of sludge on her boots.

 

When Paltus took a chunk of Laelynn’s hair in his brutish fist, she let out her first gasp of pain. He only chuckled, yanking her roughly through the mud. The knife lodged in her calf sent electric shocks through her entire body. By the time he threw her onto the shack’s filthy floorboards, stars danced behind her eyes. Her breath came and went in little whimpers.

 

“I like your spark.” The woman had taken up her place on the rafter again. “I’d like to offer you a place in my family.” Laelynn registered through the shimmer of pain that she held out a dagger, hilt first.

 

“All you have to do is kill the remaining hostage.”

 

Laelynn’s eyes drifted to the corner of the room, past the first man sprawled in a widening pool of blood. A thin woman shivered in a threadbare dress, bagged head twitching from side to side. She snivelled, narrow shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Laelynn hauled herself to her feet with a long hiss and nodded.

 

Feeling returned to Laelynn’s hands after Paltus cut them free, blood flowing sluggishly to her benumbed fingers. She curled them around the dagger and hobbled towards the kneeling woman, her useless leg dragging on the wooden floor and leaving behind a streak of blood. Paltus dogged her footsteps. His presence at her back was stifling.

 

“Shall I show you how to do it, little girl?” His hot breath on her cheek made Laelynn’s stomach twist violently. “So much blood, when you go for the throat…”

 

Eagerness. That’s what coloured Paltus’ words. He drooled at the prospect of bringing death. He reached forward to guide her wrist but Laelynn had already twisted, dagger held high. She plunged it into his neck as far as it would go, shuddering when the metal scraped against bone. A wet sucking sound filled the tiny room when she yanked it free. Sweat and blood prickled across her skin, meeting the cold air and making her shiver. Paltus clutched at the gaping wound in his throat, mouth moving like a fish out of water. No words came out. Only blood.

 

Skinning a hare was one thing. Feeling metal shear through human flesh was another. Laelynn bent over and retched.

 

Sarcastic applause sounded from the corner as she wiped bile from her lips.

 

“Impressive… Though we do have a slight issue.” The woman appeared in front of her, seizing Laelynn by the hair. “You’ve robbed me of an initiate, and I can’t have that.”

 

_ Crack. _

 

Laelynn’s head met the wall and she knew no more.

 

She awoke to the scent of sulphur and decay in a gloom so thick it was as though she had the bag pulled over her eyes again. The stone beneath her was rough, with patches of damp moss that brushed against her hands as she blindly fluttered them around. Sharp pain stabbed through her calf. She gingerly probed the wound with her fingertips and found it scabbing. A few days must have passed since the shack.

 

Laelynn felt the shudder of the dagger scraping against Paltus’ spine. Bile surged in her throat. She sat there in the dark, shivering and trying to see anything but blood in her mind’s eye.

 

“Another soul for Sithis…”

 

Laelynn started, scouring her injured leg against the stone hard enough to draw a hiss from her chapped and flaking lips. The voice had rasped from the shadows, followed by a titter that sounded as though it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Laelynn's heartbeat was an uneven, birdlike thing in her ribcage.

 

There was another giggle. Hot breath ghosted over Laelynn's cheek and she snapped her head to the side so quickly her neck clicked. A face hovered just before her own—smooth, almost like a child's, but with sunken eyes glinting with the insanity of decades. Her strangled sound of alarm jittered about the cavern, interlacing with another half-deranged laugh.

 

"Madness is merry and merriment's might, when the jester comes calling with his knife in the night!" He scuttled closer, running the backs of his gloved fingers over Laelynn's cut cheek. The cloying scent of perfume filled her nostrils. She did not make another sound.

 

“Cicero.” The jester flinched at the harsh, feminine voice.

 

Laelynn went cold. The woman from the shack sauntered into view, illuminated by braziers flickering to life along the far wall. A Dark Elven woman with smoking hands followed in her wake, lighting others around the cavern. More came behind, all dressed in the same red and black garb.

 

“You require the services of the Fool of Hearts, mistress Astrid?” Cicero bowed so low his nose brushed the floor.

 

“Move away from our newest initiate.”

 

Cicero obediently stepped back, but his eyes remained lit with a dangerous curiosity. Laelynn tried to make herself as small as possible against the rough stone wall. Astrid paced closer, coming to stand right by Laelynn’s shoulder. She was close enough for Laelynn to smell the leather of her clothing.

 

“The man who was supposed to be our newest initiate is dead at the hands of this woman.” 

 

“Then why is she here instead of rotting in a ditch?” said the Dark Elf with fire in her eyes.

 

A large pool dominated the centre of the cavern, with a small waterfall feeding into it from above. Laelynn focussed on the trickling, willing her panicked heartbeat to slow.

 

Astrid sneered. “I’m not sure if it was obvious, Gabriella, but our family is getting precariously small. We need people to flesh out the numbers, and this one,” She grabbed Laelynn by the hair and tilted her face up to the light, “has shown an aptitude for killing. What is your name?”

 

“Laelynn.” The L’s weighed heavy on her tongue.

 

Dark spots in her eyes obscured the next man who spoke from view. His voice was deep and laced with skepticism.

 

“A woman who was kidnapped and nearly killed is going to want to join the Dark Brotherhood. Really, Astrid, we must find realistic candidates-”

 

“I am the leader here.” Astrid’s fist in Laelynn’s hair tightened. “Her training begins tomorrow, once you have returned from the Deekus contract. Do I make myself clear?”

 

_ The Dark Brotherhood _ . A chill spider-walked down Laelynn’s spine. The man must have acquiesced, for Astrid released her. Laelynn’s head flopped to one side. She didn’t have the energy to hold it up any longer. Someone rattled a chain by Laelynn’s ear and she felt the attached shackle tap against her ankle.

 

“These chains are usually mine, once a month.” A Nord with long, dirty white hair shot her a wolfish grin. He had a shaggy beard and bare feet with dirt-crusted toenails. “I wouldn’t even bother trying to break them.”

 

Her head was full of stones. They rattled in her skull, making it difficult to see straight. The sound of water hitting water became deafeningly loud.  _ I’ve been kidnapped by the Dark Brotherhood. _

 

The Nord dropped the chain with a low laugh. “Enjoy the accommodations.”

 

Laelynn heard his nails scratching against the stone as he walked away. It wasn’t the Nord from the wedding. His eyes had been blue; this one’s glowed queerly golden. Her head gave another violent spin and she vomited off to the side. It tasted like salmon.


	3. Sanctuary

"Get up."

 

Something tugged at Laelynn's chafed and aching ankle, drawing a hiss from between her teeth. She rose quickly from sleep and found herself peering into a pair of slanted, blood red eyes. The Dunmeri woman, Gabriella, had her gloved fingers wrapped around Laelynn's chain. She yanked on it again, harsher than the first time.

 

"I said, get up."

 

Slowly, Laelynn obeyed, pain lashing its way down her spine when she scoured her leg against a rock. The Dark Elf's high cheekbones looked carved from basalt—she would have been beautiful, were her upper lip not curled in utter contempt. Metal tinking against stone drew Laelynn's gaze from Gabriella and down to a small brass key that had clattered to a stop by the dried vomit at her feet.

 

"Undo the chain and follow me." Her robes swished about her ankles as she turned and walked briskly across the cavern. "Don't even think about running. We will catch you."

 

Beneath the pain and exhaustion, a lingering spark of anger stirred in Laelynn’s chest. She watched Gabriella retreat with her jaw clenched so tightly she could hear her molars creaking. It made her temples throb.

 

She unclasped the chain and limped over large, uneven slabs of stone after her. The cavern showed clear signs of occupation despite nature trying to reclaim it. Braziers glowed between the vines and moss, casting flickering patterns of firelight across the rugged walls. A staircase carved from raw stone curved up into a space concealed from Laelynn’s view.

 

Gabriella threaded through the pillars, leading Laelynn into what looked like an alchemy laboratory. A large stone table sat in the centre of the room, covered in crushed flower petals and bones. She followed Gabriella into a tight, offshooting corridor. She forced away the wavering at the edges of her vision, gritting her teeth through the pain. Each step sent splintering shocks up her leg from the deep gash in her calf. It was bleeding again. The surrounding fabric grew slick in time to the stuttering throbs of her heartbeat.

 

"Will you hurry up?"

 

The gloom in the narrow tunnel made Laelynn's gut do a strange flop. She might have vomited again, were her stomach not empty. She brought her fingers up to the amulet at her throat, brushing them over the smooth metal. Feeling the small bump of the gemstone at its centre gave her a glimmer of comfort. Glowing fungi brushed against her shoulders, smearing against the rock while she squeezed herself through. Something large and many-legged scuttled in the dark. She picked up her pace.

 

Strange, feminine sounds rose from the depths of the tunnel. She could no longer hear Gabriella’s footfalls. They were drowned out by baritone rumbles hinting at a large gathering of people in the approaching cavern. When the tunnel opened onto a flat section of rock, Laelynn saw through the gloom that she was at the edge of a large subterranean river. Water burbled and sprayed across the dark rock, carving an infinite route beneath the earth. Pillars stretched high into inky blackness from the centre. Even with her partially-adjusted eyes, Laelynn couldn’t see where the ceiling began.

 

The aching in her leg had faded to a dull, bearable throb, but flared up again when a bucket careened across the floor and smashed into her shin. Gabriella stood a short distance away with her arms crossed.

 

“I haven’t got all day.”

 

A cloth-wrapped stick poked over the lip of the bucket. Laelynn’s grip on her amulet tightened.

 

“Are you going to watch?” Bravado she did not feel warbled in her voice. The water gushed below like blood through the veins of a great beast.

 

Gabriella’s dark lips spread into a sharp smile. “If you think you can escape by the river, be my guest. It flows to the Abecean Sea… if you last that long.”

 

Miles upon miles of being dashed against the rocks, her blood swirling in the dark water… Laelynn suppressed a shudder. Giving the assassin an equally frosty smile, she snatched the bucket and trudged behind a nearby pillar. Water so dark it was black roared and swirled far below, muting her movements. The sudden urge to throw herself off the edge seized her, but then she saw Blaise’s sombre face in her mind’s eye.

 

She finished up and found Gabriella waiting for her by the narrow tunnel. Walking back the way they had come proved far more difficult. Each step sent a pounding through her skull like a death knell, the edges of her vision blackening so swiftly she didn’t even register the light of the main grotto.

 

A stooped old man and a little girl stood by the stone table. He wore the red and black assassin’s attire while she had on a simple roughspun dress. Horror crept past the pain and fatigue. The girl could be no older than Blaise. She turned to Laelynn and gave her a slow, sinister smile.

 

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.” The man wheezed out a laugh. “She’s no more a little girl than you are. Now, sit.”

 

Laelynn’s bones creaked and protested but she did not sit. The girl had a wicker basket tucked under her arm, filled with multicoloured bottles and small jars of pastes and powders. The man set a hand on Laelynn’s shoulder and pushed her down with surprising strength. She sat. The wooden chair scraped the back of her thighs.

 

The man pressed his hand over Laelynn’s face, making her hiss. Golden tendrils wrapped themselves around his fingers and snaked into the cut on her cheek. Her skin grew hot as it mended, like having her face brought close to a candle flame without touching it. The girl followed up with a careless swipe of salve that stung and clumped uncomfortably while it dried.

 

When they turned to her leg, Laelynn yelped and jerked it away. The man clamped a liver-spotted hand over her knee and jabbed his glowing fingers into the ragged wound on her calf. After the initial jolt of pain, Laelynn’s muscles tightened then released, coaxed and molded into shape by the thin strands of light. The girl grabbed her jaw and squeezed, forcing a glass bottle between her lips. A bitter potion slithered down her throat and sloshed about in her empty, aching stomach. She choked and gagged but the potion was already doing its work. Pleasant warmth radiated through her limbs, chasing the golden light as it withdrew into the man’s palms.

 

She could breathe again. The pounding headache faded away like it had never been. The man wiped his hands off on the front of his robes, a self-satisfied smile stretching his wrinkled cheeks. He was bald and stooped, wearing a loose-fitting version of the Dark Brotherhood robes. He looked too old to be an assassin.

 

“There, now you’ll be ready for your training.”

 

Laelynn examined the callouses on her palms and thought of Paltus. Her skin turned blood-splattered, so she fisted her hands and shoved them into her lap. She focused on flexing her feet, feeling the smooth pull of muscle without any pain. 

 

“Your first contract should be simple. I heard the Listener say it was a Wood Elf. They’re so easy to-”

 

Laelynn cracked him in the mouth with the heel of her hand. He reeled back, clutching at his mouth. She bolted. Her newly-healed body moved with harelike speed, bounding across the room and out into the grotto. Firelight glimmered from a tunnel mouth on the other side. Her feet skidded over loose pebbles, nails cracking from the effort of dragging herself around the pillars. _Faster, faster._ Her legs burned. She flew up a set of stairs and past a break in the stone wall, right into a fist aimed at her throat.

 

She went down, hard. Laelynn curled in on herself, gagging and clutching at her throat. She couldn’t breathe, her windpipe had collapsed. She couldn’t breathe. A shadow swam in her vision, blocking out the light. The silhouette dragged her through the tunnel by the scruff of her shirt, grazing her skin with fresh wounds, before throwing her on the flagstones. She lay there gasping, spots of black dancing in her vision.

 

Astrid stood over her with ashy blonde hair framing her derisive face. The old man appeared at her elbow, cradling his bruised and bloody lip. She leaned close. Laelynn smelled blood and roses.

 

“Here’s how this is going to work. You killed our initiate, therefore you are going to take his place. You are going to train. If you run, you will die. If you attack any of us, you will die. If you attempt to contact anyone outside the Brotherhood,-”

 

“I think she gets the point,” Gabriella said with a bored sniff.

 

Astrid scowled. “Have I made myself clear, Breton?”

 

Laelynn nodded. She didn’t think she could speak.

 

“Good. Get her out of my sight, before I change my mind.”

* * *

Days or weeks slid by. With no sun or stars, Laelynn marked the passage of time by the leaving and returning of the assassins. They weren’t very reliable, appearing at random through the corridor she had tried to escape by. 

 

She had been so close. The shackle around her ankle weighed more than ever, mooring her to the cavern floor.

 

“Enjoying the Sanctuary?” Gabriella stepped through from the alchemy room and stared down at Laelynn from the top step.

 

 _Sanctuary._ That’s what the assassins called this prison of a cave system. She didn’t respond, staring down at where her knees were curled up to her chest.

 

Gabriella blew out a loud sigh. “Astrid seems to think you’re ready to be let off the leash.” She sat down on the wooden bench beside Laelynn. “I trust you won’t try to run again?”

 

Laelynn massaged her throat and grimaced. She shook her head.

 

“Good.” Gabriella slipped the small key from her sleeve and unlocked Laelynn’s shackle. “I did say last time that we would catch you, and I was right.”

 

They walked through the alchemy room, where the young girl was bent over a spindly wooden table in the corner. Her hands darted with inhuman swiftness over the smoking apparatus, adjusting the system of tubes with tiny flicks of her fingers.

 

“This is where Babette and Festus do most of their work.” Gabriella gave the laboratory a lazy wave of her hand. Babette didn’t acknowledge her. 

 

Gabriella passed the river tunnel, leading Laelynn down a short flight of stairs into a large, brightly lit dining room. A man with a ponytail sat with his back to the tunnel mouth. Opposite him, across a game of cards, sat an Argonian. The reptile’s sharp teeth flashed yellow-white when he talked.

 

“Lunch was an hour ago, sister.”

 

“We’re not here for food,” said Gabriella. Laelynn’s stomach gurgled in protest. “Astrid wants our newest initiate to begin her duties.”

 

The Argonian placed down a card that made the other man curse. He tossed down his hand and pushed away from the table, leaving the Argonian to pocket a pile of Septims with a self-satisfied smile. The man turned to Gabriella and Laelynn, still glowering.

 

Laelynn’s blood ran cold. The man had eyes like chips of ice. Her hand rose to the thin scar on her throat before drifting down to her amulet. She gripped it tightly, tearing her eyes away from him and staring down at her boots.

 

“The hearth needs cleaning,” he said. His voice was softer, but there was no mistaking it. He was Vittoria’s assassin.

 

“You heard the Listener.” Gabriella nudged her towards the corner of the room serving as a kitchen. “Consider this the first of your duties to the Brotherhood. Once you’re finished, return to the main chamber.”

 

She thrust a bristle brush into Laelynn’s hands and left her standing before the soot-stained fireplace. It didn’t have a chimney leading out of the caves, meaning that everything within a few paces of it was coated in a grimy black layer. Laelynn started scrubbing. The top-most layer flaked away to reveal blackened stone beneath.

 

“There is an easier way to do that, you know.”

 

A Redguard man with a scarlet headwrap sat on a nearby bench with a sword balanced over his knees. His russet skin made the pink scars on his cheeks stand out in stark relief. Returning his sword to its sheath, he rose and began pulling bottles off a nearby shelf. He unstoppered a large glass flask and brought it to his nose, sniffing its contents and swirling it around.

 

“Vinegar.” He set it on the sooty stone near Laelynn’s hand. “Go on, it works.”

 

She poured a small amount onto the hearth and scrubbed. Grey stone peeked at her beneath the grime.

 

“Thank you,” she said quietly. Her voice rasped from disuse.

 

“Save the niceties. I have no intention of getting invested in someone who may be dead tomorrow.” He plucked an apple from the counter and bit into it. “If you’re still breathing in a few weeks, I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends.”

 

Laelynn heard him crunching as he left the dining room.

 

She cleaned until her knuckles bled and her knees ached. When the hearth was spotless and the dining room smelled of vinegar, Laelynn hobbled towards the main cavern, passing through the alchemy room. Sticky white webs made a curtain on the far wall. Something large shifted in the hollow beyond, casting a dark silhouette against the webs. Gooseflesh prickled along Laelynn’s arms.

 

The grotto was empty. Red banners with a black handprint in the centre hung still and lifeless from the walls. Laelynn crunched across the loose gravel on her way to a curved wall between the alchemy laboratory and the large staircase. Strange, runic symbols decorated the surface. She ran her fingertips over the grooves in the stone, tracing their sharp yet elegant patterns.

 

“Noble Nord, remember these words of the Hoar Father.”

 

Laelynn snatched her hand away. Vittoria’s assassin, the Listener, stood on the stairway behind her. He had approached on silent feet, managing to get within only a few paces. Vittoria’s blood-slick wedding ring shimmered before her eyes.

 

“To kill in glorious war is to honour oneself. To die in glorious war is to honour all of Skyrim.” He nodded to the inscriptions pressed against Laelynn’s back. “That’s what it says.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

He didn’t blink. The Listener stared at her down his aquiline nose, arms folded across his chest. Laelynn found herself staring back, sweat prickling along the back of her neck. His stolen glove felt so heavy in her pocket. She fished it out and handed it to him. He clenched his jaw—she saw it flutter once, twice, before he took the glove and pocketed it. Then he disappeared up the stairs without looking back.

 

A dull roar started in the far corner of the cavern. The Redguard man from before sat at a grindstone, running his sword across its surface. Laelynn sat on a rock at the edge of the pool, feeling the spray of water occasionally splatter on her hands, and waited. Gabriella had told her to return to the main chamber once she had finished. Perhaps the Dark Elf had forgotten.

 

When Laelynn’s clothes were well and truly damp, the white-haired Nord with bare, dirty feet loped into the grotto. She had heard him being called Arnbjorn. A broad smile stretched the scars on his face. 

 

“It’s New Life!” He flung his arms wide, voice booming throughout the Sanctuary. “The Dead Man’s Drink has free ale!”

 

New Life, the beginning of a fresh year. She had been in the caves for over a month. Laelynn dropped her head into her hands.

 

“Someone’s not in the New Life spirit.”

 

The old man she had cracked in the lip stood with his arms tucked into his sleeves. A black handprint decorated the front of his robes.

 

“Stop moping,” he said. “There’s only room for one cranky old uncle around here! Now get up.”

 

Laelynn narrowed her eyes and rose slowly. The man was bald, with skin like old parchment, but stood with his chin up and shoulders back.

 

“Not all assassins skulk around in the dark like a skeever and stab people.” He tucked his hands behind his back and began pacing. “My preferred style is to walk up to the target, introduce myself, melt their face off, then run like the wind. Works every time!” His laugh was a wet, rattling thing in the back of his throat. “That is what you will be learning today.”

 

He flung out a hand and attacked her.

 

The bolt of lightning speared for her so quickly there was no time to think. From deep in the pit of her stomach, brought to the surface so quickly she saw stars, soared a well of magicka. It sparked through her veins and out through the tips of her fingers, conjuring a flickering blue barrier where she had flung up her hands.

 

Her amulet seared red-hot against her sternum, over her racing heart. 

 

“You could have killed me!” Her own voice sounded quiet with the blood rushing in her ears.

 

The old man held up a hand. “It wouldn’t have _killed_ you, just seriously maimed. As I suspected, your Breton blood came to the rescue. Bretons are natural-born spellweavers, you know!”

 

A ferocious headache pounded through Laelynn’s temples. She pressed a hand over her aching chest, fighting for control over her uneven breathing. The metal pendant had returned to being a cool, heavy presence against her skin.

 

“Come on, young pup, don’t give up that easily!”

 

He threw a spray of frost that sent Laelynn sprawling to the cavern floor. Through a blur of pain and firelight, she saw the Listener sitting on the stairway. She rose unsteadily to her feet, wiping a thin trail of blood from her chin. Fresh blood dripped from her nose. When he had magicka crackling around him in a purple halo, the old man moved like a man half his age.

 

“Consider that a little payback for my lip,” he said, raising his hand for another attack.

 

Laelynn rolled away, a belch of flame scorching the stones where she had been. Pain shuddered through her knees. 

 

“Raise a ward!”

 

Spell after spell barrelled from the man’s hands, shattering the flagstones where they landed. An ice spike licked Laelynn’s hip and she went down with a yell. Pain blossomed, radiating outwards until her right side was completely numb.

 

“Festus, that’s enough.” The Listener came to stand by the pool, his face stony and inscrutable. “I think she’s learned her lesson.”

 

Festus ignored him, stalking closer with slitted eyes. “Bretons should be brimming with noticeable magicka. You feel…” He stopped right in front of Laelynn. “Dead.”

 

She tried to raise herself onto her elbows but found she couldn’t move. Festus lazily twirled his finger, sending a spiral of golden light to wreathe around her torso, and she felt warmth prickle across her skin. Laelynn dragged herself to her feet, keeping her eyes on the ground. Tree roots occasionally breached the stony floor, twining around clumps of mushrooms and wildflowers.

 

Festus’ hand darted out and seized the pendant at her throat. Laelynn tried to pull away, but his other hand clamped around her wrist.

 

“Festus,” the Listener said in a low voice laced with warning.

 

“Curious,” said Festus, turning the amulet to the light of a nearby brazier. “It looks like a token for magicka enhancement, but it feels empty.”

 

Laelynn stomped on his instep, taking the moment of shock to wrench herself free from his grip. Festus’ groan of pain turned into a dry, wheezing chuckle.

 

He wagged a finger at her. “Tricky, tricky!”

 

Laelynn ran. She heard Festus’ voice echo through the tunnels after her. Veering into an unfamiliar tunnel, she bounded up a short flight of stairs and threw herself through the first door she came across. She rested her back against the wood, breathing heavily, and closed her eyes. 

 

A quiet giggle sounded by her ear.


	4. Blood Debt

“What does the prisoner want?” The jester sniffed her hair as he prowled around to her other side. “Why does she break into Mother’s chamber so unceremoniously?”

 

Laelynn pressed herself closer to the door. He leaned in until his nose brushed against her cheek.

 

“You must die now, to preserve Cicero’s secrets.” He reached for the knife at his belt so quickly, Laelynn barely had time to blink. Blaise’s pale face flashed before her eyes.

 

“Ahhh… gotcha!” He broke into peals of riotous laughter, clutching at his belly and rocking back and forwards. “Oh, you should see the look on your face! Come in, come in. Cicero can talk for a moment. Just a moment. Then Mother must be… tended to.”

 

Laelynn stepped further into the chamber and almost gagged. The room was not unlike others in the Sanctuary, except for the smell. Sickly sweet, floral perfume intermingled with underlying notes of decay. Shelves lined the walls, covered in bones, dried flowers, and stoppered bottles. There were no carpets, just cold, bare stone.

 

A warm red glow emanated from one side of the room. Stepping in further, Laelynn saw a large iron coffin with candles and other paraphernalia at the foot of it, bordered on either side by banners bearing the black hand of the Dark Brotherhood. The light was coming from a backlit stained glass window depicting a terrifying skeletal figure surrounded by what could have been snakes, vines, or spinal columns. Laelynn wasn’t quite sure in the low light, and didn’t want to look closer to find out.

 

Cicero caught her staring and grinned broadly. “The prisoner admires the likeness of Sithis. We might make her into an assassin, yet! How fun!”

 

He pulled out a seat for Laelynn with a flourish. She sat down hesitantly, peering about the dimly lit room.

 

“Who is Sithis?”

 

Cicero was arranging a few pastries on plates but abruptly stopped when she spoke. “Who is Sithis? The prisoner doesn’t know?” He lapsed into a long bout of giggling. “Sithis is the Dread Father, the Dark Brotherhood incarnate. The Night Mother is his beloved bride.”

 

He hopped across the room, jingling like he had coins in his pockets, and dropped the plates of pastries on the table. Laelynn picked one up and and a weevil wriggled out. She put it back on her plate and ignored the rumbling in her stomach. Cicero skipped across to the coffin and opened the doors. Inside was a desiccated corpse. 

 

Laelynn fought the revulsion welling in her throat. The corpse’s head was twisted at a grotesque angle, skin stretched tight over the skull so that the teeth and cheekbones were exposed in sharp relief. Scraps of an ancient dress clung to the corpse’s withered frame, which seemed to be kept in one piece by thin wires propping the limbs in position.

 

Cicero lovingly stroked the corpse’s cheek. “Isn’t she beautiful? When the Night Mother speaks, the Listener must obey, for her word is the will of Sithis.” He spoke it in sing-song like a well rehearsed prayer. With one last lingering touch, he pulled away and reached for a glass bottle on a nearby shelf. When he uncorked it, the overpowering perfume smell filled the chamber and nearly made Laelynn gag again.

 

“Cicero must oil Mother now…” He poured a generous amount onto his hand and began to lather the corpse’s wrinkly skin. Nausea roiled in Laelynn’s gut when his hand slipped into her armpit. “Get all the hard to reach places…”

 

“Thank you for the pastries, Cicero.” Laelynn rose and began backing towards the other side of the room, where another door waited. 

 

“Cicero must get Mother some flowers. Pretty, pretty flowers…”

 

Laelynn closed the door and rested her forehead against the wood, heart stuttering in her chest. She needed to leave. Blaise would be waiting for her by the gates of Solitude every day, wondering where she had gone or if she was even still alive. She needed to find him and tell him that the Dragonborn would return one day to do battle with his wooden dragons.

 

Her thumb made a familiar arc over the face of her amulet. She had done it so many times, the pattern pressed into the metal had long since smoothed out. The dull blue stone at its centre sucked what little light there was from the corridor. Laelynn recognised her surroundings. Still clutching her pendant, she went off in search of the alchemy laboratory.

 

It was empty when she arrived. Laelynn paced in a slow circle, squinting at the dozens of bottles lining the shelves. The labels were written in a cramped, spidery font. She plucked a dark green bottle from the shelf and held it to a nearby lantern.  _ Frostbite Venom. _

 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

 

The thin, reedy voice made Laelynn start and drop the bottle. It smashed against the stone, sending a dark liquid splashing everywhere. The moss turned brown and shrivelled where the liquid touched it.

 

“Do you have any idea how many times I had to milk that accursed spider to get a full bottle?” Babette stormed closer, bending down to pick up the shards of glass. “Next time, I’ll make you do it.”

 

Laelynn didn’t respond, but angled herself towards the doorway to begin her retreat. Babette threw an arm in front of her with a snarl. Despite her short stature, the girl radiated danger. Alarm blared through Laelynn’s body. She went taut, perched on the balls of her feet to run.

 

Babette curled her lip and slowly lowered her skinny arm. “Gabriella is looking for you.”

 

Hackles still raised, Laelynn slipped past her and into the grotto. Gabriella leaned against a pillar in the centre with her arms crossed.

 

“We need our sparring area back.” She nodded to Laelynn’s corner. Straw people and arrow targets had been pushed against the wall to make room for her narrow bench.

 

Laelynn followed Gabriella through the Sanctuary, up the wide flight of stairs and into a cluttered corridor. Gabriella kicked an iron helm aside, sending it clattering across the stone. They entered a large chamber that overlooked the dining room, filled with beds and chests of drawers.

 

“You have been assigned a cot.” 

 

“I’m not one of you.”

 

Gabriella’s skin looked black in the sleeping quarters’ dim lighting. Her thin smile did not reach her cold, crimson eyes. “No, you are not. You killed the man who was supposed to become a part of our family, and now you will replace him. Have no fear, I will never call you sister.”

 

Gabriella left but the acrid sting of her words remained. Laelynn heeled off her boots and crawled beneath the furs on her new bed. She curled on her side, facing the rough stone wall. Paltus’ leering face dogged her shallow bouts of sleep.

 

She didn’t know if it was morning when she woke, but her mind permitted her no more rest. She pulled her boots on and trudged to the main cavern. The Redguard sparred with a dummy, his curved sword sending sprays of straw into the air.

 

“Nazir will be training you in hand-to-hand combat.” Gabriella appeared from one of the offshooting corridors. She stood and watched the Redguard perform a graceful spin that ended with the strawman’s head on the floor. “I heard that your lesson with Festus went poorly.”

 

“I’m not a mage.” Laelynn’s pendant grew warm against her skin. She swallowed down the nausea in her throat.

 

“I’m not your minder and yet here I am, put on nursemaid duty.” She scowled, turning sharply and stalking off. Laelynn trotted to keep up. “You have an unhealthy pallor to your skin. If you are going to be able to seduce your male contracts, you must look a little less like a Hagraven.”

 

Laelynn patted her tangled hair, following Gabriella across the cavern. While she had been able to bathe in the underground river, none of the assassins had thought to give her a comb. She wasn’t about to ask. 

 

Gabriella led her through the tunnel she had tried to escape by all those weeks ago. She rubbed her throat, feeling the echo of Astrid’s blow against it. They turned a corner, approaching a black door with a large skull carved into it. It grinned at Laelynn and she found herself grinning back. Gabriella lead her out into the open air and blinding sunlight.

 

Her eyes burned. She crouched down and shielded them, soaking in her surroundings through her other senses. She smelled pine and snow. Birds flitted through branches above her head, calling to one another. She greedily sucked down her first breaths of fresh air in weeks. The wind changed, bringing with it a whiff of fetid water. Laelynn peeked through slitted eyes to see a small pond by the Sanctuary’s entrance. Mist rose from its surface in pale tendrils, twisting away with the wind.

 

A stiff breeze rattled through the pines. Laelynn tipped her head back to feel the sun on her skin, squinting against the light. A lonely cloud scudded across the wide, open sky.

 

“Where are we?” Her voice sounded hollow without cavern walls to reverberate off of.

 

“I do hope you’re not getting any bright ideas, Breton.” Gabriella crunched through a dirty snowdrift and perched on the edge of a nearby boulder. “You won’t get very far in the wilderness.”

 

The trees huddled close together in all directions. The Sanctuary’s entrance was tucked beneath a hillock, with a narrow dirt path snaking uphill from the door. There must have been a town nearby, or that Nord wouldn’t have said anything about the tavern having free drinks.

 

“Astrid says you’re a huntress,” Gabriella said, drawing Laelynn’s attention back to her. In the sun, her dark skin appeared more blue-grey then black. “Your first contract will teach you the exhilaration of a true hunt.”

 

Laelynn rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her stomach had stopped turning to lead at the mention of this impending contract, but it still made her feel ill at ease. Gabriella’s lips twitched, as though she were rolling words across her tongue. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

 

“There has been talk,” she began slowly, “that your tenure with the Brotherhood will end once we have completed a highly important contract. After payment has been received, Astrid will let you go.”

 

For the first time, Laelynn allowed the feeble stirrings of hope to kindle in her chest. Then it died, doused by Astrid’s icy words.  _ If you attempt to contact anyone outside the Brotherhood…  _

 

Her tenure with the Brotherhood would end when she was buried in a shallow, unmarked grave.

 

“What’s the contract?”

 

“That is highly confidential.” Gabriella rose from the boulder and sauntered back towards the black door. She moved like a dancer, her footsteps silent on the soil. “Your time is up.”

 

Laelynn pointed between the trees with a shaking hand. “What is that?”

 

Gabriella’s eyes followed her hand and Laelynn took her chance. She swept Gabriella’s feet out from under her, sending her sprawling to the soil, and ran. Vulgar curses followed her as she sprinted between the trees, flying over roots and rabbit holes as smoothly as a Wispmother. Crisp winter air nipped at her cheeks. Laelynn had never felt so alive.

 

She burst into a small clearing and the sunlight streaming through the branches overhead blinded her. The pines became a blur of green and grey but she did not stop to wipe her watering eyes.

 

Something small and brunette slammed into Laelynn from the right. She went down, catching a mouthful of mud and pine needles. Through the ringing in her ears she heard, “Did you really think you could outsmart the Dark Brotherhood?”

 

Babette’s cruel, grinning face swam into view, silhouetted by the too-bright sun. Gabriella blazed into the clearing a moment later, setting the trees behind her aflame.

 

“You bitch! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t drag you to Astrid this second!”

 

Pine needles clung to Gabriella’s shroud, shrivelling into nothing from the heat radiating from her skin. She stormed forwards but Babette held up a hand to halt her.

 

“Give the girl credit where credit is due. She managed to fool you into looking.”

 

It was strange, being called ‘girl’ by someone who looked younger than Blaise. Gabriella shouldered past Babette, drawing her dagger from its sheath. Laelynn scrambled to get away but Gabriella grabbed her by the ankle and hauled her back.

 

“This is your final warning. Try something like that again and I will kill you myself.”

 

Gabriella seized Laelynn’s wrist in a burning grip, bringing the knife down in a swift slash across her forearm. Laelynn hissed air through her teeth. Blood instantly welled, dripping down her arm in crimson rivulets. Gabriella turned the knife on herself, the blood appearing black against her dark skin.

 

“You owe me a blood debt now,  _ Laelynn.”  _ Her name sounded like a slur on Gabriella’s lips. “In payment for not telling Astrid about this poor excuse for an escape attempt.”

 

She hauled Laelynn to her feet and dragged her through the forest. Babette trailed behind. Laelynn swore she saw something dark and predatory glint in the girl’s eyes at the sight of her blood dribbling onto the dirt.

 

Gabriella threw her down beside the fetid pond. “I permitted you your life. You will not find the Listener as forgiving.”

 

The Sanctuary door slammed behind her, sending a flock of birds cackling into the air. When Laelynn turned, Babette had also disappeared.

 

A sulphurous smell rose from the pond. She shifted onto her knees, breathing deeply through her mouth. The cut on her arm smarted, but had already begun to scab. Laelynn tore a strip of fabric from the hem of her filthy shirt, tying it over the wound to staunch the remaining blood flow.

 

The ground rumbled beneath her knees. Vapor rose from the noxious water, billowing into a large cloud that swathed the surrounding trees in darkness. Laelynn coughed through the fumes, struggling to her feet with one useless arm. She heard the thunder of hoofbeats and hissing of boiling water before a black horse with glowing red eyes appeared through the smoke.

 

She turned to run and found herself facing the Listener. He brushed past her, approaching the demon-horse and running a hand over its muzzle.

 

“Don’t be afraid of Shadowmere. He won’t hurt you unless you deserve it.”

 

Shadowmere stamped his hooves, champing at the bit. His glowing red eyes reminded her of Gabriella. She suppressed a shudder.

 

“Mount up.”

 

Laelynn stared at him. The Listener patted Shadowmere’s saddle. The cloth beneath it was decorated with a black handprint.

 

She backed away, gripping her injured arm. “I’ve never ridden a horse before.” 

 

“Would you rather walk to Whiterun?” The Listener’s chilly eyes felt like a brand against her skin.

 

Laelynn wriggled her toes in her boots. They were sturdy enough, but traipsing through the marsh for a day was one thing. Days or weeks of hard walking was another beast entirely. She didn’t even know in which direction Whiterun lay.

 

Her eyes didn’t come level with Shadowmere’s back, let alone his head, which towered above her. He huffed out a cloud of white vapor, tossing his head when she approached. His eyes followed her to a rock at the side of the pool. Even standing on it, she couldn’t find a conceivable way to climb onto his back. No stirrups dangled from the sides of his saddle.

 

The Listener took a running start from Shadowmere’s other side, grabbed a hunk of black mane, and swung his leg over the saddle. Once he was settled, he reached down and hauled Laelynn up behind him. Then Shadowmere took off.

 

She tried to keep her eyes open to see which path they took through the trees, but fear made her scrunch them closed. Her heart thumped faster than the hoofbeats beneath her. Shadowmere thundered through the forest, leaping over logs and low boulders with movements that jarred through Laelynn’s legs. She found herself slipping off the back of the saddle and fisted her hands in the Listener’s shirt. Clinging for dear life, she kept her head down and her thighs clamped firmly around the horse’s sides.

 

His pace slowed after only a few minutes. Shadowmere’s rolling gait made Laelynn’s tailbone crackle with discomfort. 

 

“You’ll get your own horse in a few hours.” She felt the Listener’s voice rumble through her fingers, still clutching the back of his shirt.

 

The hours passed slowly. By the time they came across a palfrey tied at the base of a crumbling watchtower, Laelynn couldn’t feel her toes. She slid from Shadowmere’s back and nearly collapsed, gripping one of the saddle horns to keep herself upright.

 

The Listener unclasped one of Shadowmere’s saddlebags and attached it to the white and grey speckled palfrey. He tossed Laelynn a waterskin.

 

“We’ll rest here for a while, then get moving. I want to reach the lake by nightfall.”

 

The trees loomed too close together for her to see anything more than twenty paces ahead on the path. She uncorked the waterskin, gulped its contents, and sat down on an old tree stump. The pines were too thick for snow to reach the forest floor but Laelynn felt a winter chill through her cloak. She pulled it closer and thought of balmy summer nights in Solitude.


	5. Hunting the Hunter

Her horse had a mind of its own. For the most part, he followed along behind Shadowmere, meaning Laelynn only had to grip the front of the saddle and stay upright. But occasionally, he drifted to the side of the road and paused to graze on low lying bushes. When he dipped his head, Laelynn felt as though she would slide forwards off the saddle. The Listener made a clicking noise with his tongue and her horse started walking again.

 

The pine trees around them thinned until Laelynn could see sunlight shimmering off the blue-green surface of a lake. When their horses turned to walk along the lakefront, Laelynn saw the Throat of the World rising above them.

 

“This is Lake Ilinalta.” She studied the distant shore. Rocky hills blocked the Whiterun plains from view, but she knew they were there. She closed her eyes and pictured the roads snaking northwards to Solitude. It was Scour Day. Blaise would be cleaning up the aftermath of the New Life Festival at Katla’s Farm just outside the city walls. She smiled.

 

The Listener didn’t respond. She didn’t think he heard her. 

 

They plodded along the shores of Ilinalta until the lake narrowed into the White River. With the setting sun behind them, the Listener chose a meadow to set up camp for the evening. Fire licked through Laelynn’s thighs and core when she slid to the ground.

 

The Listener tied their horses to the branch of a nearby tree and began brushing them down in the gathering twilight. The winter sun set quickly and it was soon dark.

 

“You’re the hunter, why don’t you fetch us our dinner.” He tossed her a bow and quiver. 

 

She fumbled them, sending arrows scattering across the grass. The Listener didn’t even blink. Once she had returned them to the quiver, she shouldered it and stalked towards a copse of trees. They weren’t as thick as the pine forest, but silence settled over the branches when she stepped between them. Many of the trunks had been stripped clean of bark, but there were no deer to be seen. She glanced back over her shoulder.

 

The Listener had his back to her, still tending to the horses. Shadowmere stood still and silent but her palfrey was restless, stamping and champing at the bit. The Listener leaned in close and murmured in the horse’s ear. 

 

She could run. Laelynn didn’t know the area well, but with the Throat of the World as her lodestone, she could find her way anywhere. She could find a town, gather some supplies, and take off for Hjaalmarch before the Listener knew she was gone.

 

Bushes rustled up ahead and Laelynn let out a yelp. She drew an arrow from her quiver, keeping it loosely nocked as she crept through the trees. Every time something shifted in the undergrowth, her head whipped towards the sound. She swore she saw Babette’s grinning face in the dark, but whenever she looked it was always just a tree with a peculiar pattern in its bark. Bushes clawed at the hem of her cloak. She yanked it free with a quiet curse.

 

The moon had fully risen by the time Laelynn trudged back to camp empty handed. Every time a hare had sped across her path, she was too slow to shoot it. And if she stopped to set a snare, they could be waiting for days for a meal. Her legs ached worse than before.

 

The Listener crouched by a blazing fire, turning two salmon on a spit. Laelynn threw her quiver down with a loud rattle. He looked up, glancing between her and the cooking fish.

 

“I know you’re no hunter,” he said plainly, turning the fish over. “I wanted to see if you would try to run.”

 

Laelynn froze. The bow in her hands felt far too heavy. She thought it might slip from her sweat-slicked fingers.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She marched over to the campfire and sat herself down. “It’s winter. Game is sparse.”

 

“I could hear you blundering through the trees from here. Hunters are silent. They can read the woods and spot the easiest, quietest paths.” He turned the fish again. “You didn’t know to avoid brambles, let alone how to roll your weight to avoid snapping twigs. I wouldn’t be surprised if you scared off every creature for miles.”

 

Laelynn’s face burned, and not from the heat of the fire.

 

She didn’t respond. The firewood popped, sending sparks spiralling into the night sky. The Listener handed her one of the fish. She stared down at it on her lap, examining the fine grit of spices baked into the flesh.

 

“How have you survived this long?”

 

She could feel the Listener’s arctic eyes on her but didn’t look up, instead picking at her fish. The delicate salmon taste made her think of Addvar.

 

They ate in silence. The nearby river burbling over rocks made Laelynn’s eyelids droop. Wintertime in the south was nothing compared to the chest-constricting cold of the frosty northern marshes, and with the warmth of the fire and a full belly, Laelynn found herself drifting in and out of sleep. The Listener’s voice startled her awake.

 

“You wouldn’t have anywhere to run, even if you did. Astrid has eyes everywhere.” The Listener watched her face, twirling a fish bone nimbly between his fingers. Laelynn tried to keep her features impassive. “You wouldn’t be able to return to any place you had ever lived, where anyone knew your name or could recognise your face. Veezara found you in a day after catching a glimpse of your face once.”

 

Laelynn’s dinner turned to stone in her gut. Her thighs burned when she rose and unfurled her bedroll, laying it out as far away from the Listener as she could without losing the warmth of the fire. The Listener lay with his hands behind his head, staring up at the stars. Laelynn mirrored him. After weeks of gazing at a dark cavern ceiling, the open sky made her feel like she could breathe again. Her eyes roved across the constellations, searching for a distinctive cluster of seven stars. She found the Ritual sign, tracking its slow progress as the night wore on.

 

“You only need to aid us with the Motierre contract and then we won’t need you any more.”

 

“Motierre?” A shock went through her. “Amaund Motierre, the Breton Imperial councillor? What does he want with the Dark Brotherhood?”

 

The Listener had gone completely still. He sat up slowly, eyes predator-bright in the darkness. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

 

Laelynn quickly looked away. This was all so much deeper and darker than she had originally thought. She drew her bedroll up to her chin but sleep eluded her. She felt the Listener’s presence as keenly as she felt the heat from the fire. It set her on edge, knowing that he could approach on silent feet in the night and finish what he started in the corridor after Vittoria’s wedding all those weeks ago. The silhouette of a bird flew over her, briefly blocking out the stars. Its freedom mocked her.

 

When she did sleep, it was shallow. Every disturbance jolted her awake. She saw Paltus’ looming over her in the light of the dying embers, his face grey and bloodless. The sweat slicking her skin felt like his lifeblood spilling over her, catching in her hair and soaking into her clothes. A burned, mutilated hand crawled into her dreams and closed around her throat.

 

Laelynn’s eyes flew open. She tried to scream but her mouth was filled with blood. She choked and rolled to the side, spitting into the dirt. Feeble dawn light crept along the eastern horizon, struggling to breach the Throat of the World. Laelynn peeled her bedroll away. The cold morning air hit her sweat-drenched skin and made her shiver. The Listener lay on his front, back rising and falling gently with sleep. Laelynn crept past him, around the edge of the pile of ash that was their campfire, and headed for the river.

 

The water was icy against her bare feet. She waded in to her knees, feeling the cold tighten her lungs. Heat flickered along her skin in response and her amulet flared. She dipped her hands into the quick-flowing river and scrubbed her arms, her face, the back of her neck. Gabriella’s knife wound on her forearm throbbed. She had bitten her tongue in the night, lacing every breath with copper, so she rinsed her mouth and spit blood-tinged water back into the river. Then she dunked herself under the water, rubbing at her dirty clothes with stiff, frozen movements. Her lungs burned when she breached the surface and she was wracked with violent shuddering.

 

“Get out of there!” 

 

The Listener stood on the riverbank, waving one of his arms. He was half dressed, holding up his pants with his other hand. Laelynn went numb, shivers abruptly subsiding.

 

“Are you deaf? Move!”

 

Laelynn slowly made her way to the river bank. She felt the sharp stones beneath her feet, but her flesh was so numb she felt no pain. When she was within arm’s reach, the Listener wrenched her out of the water, just in time to avoid being mauled by a large fish with very sharp teeth. It flopped on the rocks, thrashing its stubby tail and snapping at Laelynn’s ankles. The Listener hooked his foot under the fish and flipped it back into the river.

 

Laelynn’s heart pattered in her chest like a rabbit’s. “What was that?”

 

The Listener looked at her like she was dim. “That was a slaughterfish. You’re lucky to still have all your limbs.” He trudged up the small slope back to their camp, but turned and looked at her once he got to the ridge. “How do you not know that the waterways are teeming with slaughterfish?”

 

The adrenaline faded, leaving Laelynn shivering again. She hugged herself for warmth, following him up the riverbank. 

 

“I haven’t been in the south very often,” she said through chattering teeth. 

 

The Listener shook his head while he continued dressing. Once he was done, he threw Laelynn a pile of clothes.

 

“Put them on. They were supposed to be for when you met the target, so try to keep them clean.”

 

Laelynn ran her thumb over the jerkin’s fine green material. It was far nicer than anything she had worn in years. She moved behind a boulder and shucked out of her wet clothing. The fresh clothes felt fluffy and warm against her skin, even though they were a little loose. Pulling on her old, dirty boots seemed such a shame when they were paired with trousers made of soft, dyed wool.

 

The Listener had already prepared their horses by the time she returned to camp. Her old, wet clothing felt heavy in her hands.

 

“You can leave those here,” he said, nodding to her sodden clothes.

 

They were threadbare and peppered with holes, but her clothes tied her to where she had come from. She had been wearing the thin cotton shirt when Blake climbed onto the ledge with her at Vittoria’s wedding. Her plain brown tunic was flecked with mud from the marsh. Her pants had holes in the knees from the countless times she bent down to to set her snares.

 

She wrung her old clothes out and scrunched them into a satchel, slinging it over her shoulder. The Listener watched her with an inscrutable expression as she climbed onto a rock and struggled onto her palfrey’s back. He had packed up the bedrolls, attaching them to the saddlebags.

 

They rode in silence. The path meandered through a sleepy riverside town at the base of the Throat of the World. The Listener stared ahead the entire time, ignoring the way townsfolk talked behind their hands and pointed at Shadowmere’s hulking form. They crossed a bridge and the Listener urged Shadowmere into a trot. Laelynn’s horse followed suit. The change in gait was jarring, sending her bouncing uncomfortably in the saddle. She gripped tightly onto her palfrey’s mane and tried to stay upright by the strength of her legs.

 

Crags and trees faded to dry brown tussocks as they drew closer to Whiterun. Laelynn couldn’t seem to draw a full breath. Her core ached with every movement of the horse beneath her. Other travellers on the road looked at them sidelong. Some openly gawked, nudging their companions and pointing. Shadowmere wasn’t exactly conspicuous.

 

Laelynn could see the walls of Whiterun ahead when the Listener woahed their horses. He slid off Shadowmere’s back and slapped him on the rear, sending the dark horse cantering off the road and out of sight. She moved to dismount as well but the Listener held up a hand.

 

“It’s only Shadowmere that is too recognisable. I’ll go the rest of the way on foot.” He looped her horse’s reins around his hand and continued leading it along the road. “You can stay mounted.”

 

Laelynn could smell honey on the wind. It grew stronger as they approached Honningbrew Meadery, its painted sign clattering in the breeze. It had a beehive on the front, right under the green, calligraphic lettering. 

 

“The target is a Wood Elf by the name of Anoriath. He runs a tavern in the city with his brother.” The Listener kept his voice low, even though the only other people on the road were far ahead, nearly at the city walls. “You’re going to lure him out into the plains for a hunting trip.”

 

Laelynn went numb. She barely even felt the chafing on her thighs, curling her fingers so tightly in the horse’s mane that it snorted and tossed its head. How could anyone hate another person so much that they would pay for their demise? Astrid’s sneering face rose to the forefront of her mind, and Laelynn realised she had some idea of what could drive a person to do such a thing. She swiped her thumb over the face of her amulet, keeping her balance with her other hand against the horse’s neck.

 

“Anoriath hunts at sundown. We’ll wait in the Drunken Huntsman until then.”

 

The horse plodded past a small farm. Laelynn looked away, smelling fire and blood. The mangled, scorched hand closed around her throat again, making it difficult to breathe. She choked on air, turning her face away from the quiet, empty fields. The Listener didn’t seem to notice.

 

They left her palfrey in the stables just outside the city. Laelynn gritted her teeth through the deep ache in her legs and the chafing between them, following the Listener up the zigzagging path towards Whiterun’s main gates. He wore plain roughspun robes, concealing the red and black armour beneath. Each movement had a purpose. His strides were long, eating up the cobbles so that Laelynn had to trot to keep up. Her satchel banged against her hip. He swivelled his head left and right, watching everything around them down his hawk-like nose. He carried their belongings as though they weighed next to nothing.

 

The guards barely looked at them as they passed into the city. A blanket of thick grey cloud obscured the sun, but Laelynn guessed it was early afternoon. Townsfolk milled about, chatting to one another despite a chill wind nipping through the city. The Drunken Huntsman was one of the first buildings they came across.

 

“Keep your head down and don’t talk to anyone,” the Listener said before entering the tavern, leaving the door open for Laelynn to follow.

 

The door closed behind her with a soft _snick_. It may as well have been the sound of a key in a lock. Laelynn tugged on her pendant. The smooth metal felt warm against her fingers, its comfortable weight making her breathing slow enough so that she could look around. The Huntsman was quiet and warm with a thick sheen of smoke in the air, coming from a firepit in the centre of the room. A Nord with a hard, weathered face stood bent over a cooking pot, stirring its contents while he muttered to himself. He wore green robes trimmed with gold and a heavy fur cloak despite the heat.

 

“I’ve been thinking of hunting out beyond the boundaries of Whiterun Hold.” A Wood Elf with skin like bark stood leaning against the counter. He had ruddy brown hair tied in a knot at the top of his head, while a short, well-groomed beard made his pointy chin seem even more pronounced. “My trip to the pine forests was only three days. This time, I’m thinking three weeks.”

 

“You’re mad!” The Bosmer behind the counter stopped cleaning the tankard in his hands. His hair hung unbound around his sharp-featured face. “You can’t keep the stand closed for three weeks!”

 

“Why not? People would rather hunt their own meat than buy ours. Business is terrible, especially with it being winter.”

 

“Nonsense. That’s just an excuse for you to avoid working so you can ‘commune with the greenwood like our fathers of old’.” The barman wiggled his spindly, twig-like fingers. “Don’t shirk your responsibilities, Anoriath.”

 

“Congratulations, brother.” Anoriath pushed himself away from the counter. “You’ve been living in Skyrim so long, you’ve become a Nord.”

 

He turned to face the room and Laelynn made direct eye contact. She tried to flick her eyes away, towards any of the other patrons, but Anoriath held her gaze and smiled. Her stomach lurched. By nightfall, the smiling Wood Elf would be dead. And she would be responsible.

 

The Listener cleared his throat from a small, dimly lit table away from the firelight and the bar. Laelynn walked stiffly over and sat down opposite him, staring down at her interlaced fingers. She counted the familiar scars peppering her skin, trying to strip Anoriath’s kindly face from her mind. 

 

“It’s best not to get to know your targets.” The Listener surveyed the bar over her shoulder, pale eyes flicking back and forth. They dropped to her face, so icy and intent she nearly recoiled. “Someone paid the Brotherhood for this. It’s just like any other kind of job.”

 

Laelynn shook her head. Her nails dug into her palms, leaving deep, crescent shaped marks in the flesh. The sharp bite of pain grounded her, anchored her to the wooden stool and the steady floorboards beneath her feet.

 

“I don’t even know your name. I know his.” She could feel the Listener watching her, even though her eyes traced the grain of the table between them. The smoke stung the back of her throat, making it difficult to swallow. When the Listener didn’t respond, she opened her ears to the rest of the tavern.

 

“They’re saying it was the Stormcloaks who killed Vittoria.” An imperious Redguard with cocoa-brown skin waved his hand in the general direction of the Jarl’s keep, which Laelynn had seen rising high above the city on her way in. “The Dragonborn negotiated that peace with them all those years ago, as you know, so that he could defeat Alduin. Of course, I knew it couldn’t last. As I suspected, the military camps are becoming active again as far as the Reach. That’s what the politicians up in Dragonsreach are saying, but I understand that this is all a bit over your head.”

 

He wasn’t even bothering to keep his voice down. Laelynn saw the finely dressed Nord by the hearth roll his eyes, but the Redguard’s conversation partner simply leaned back in her chair with a sly smile.

 

“Fascinating. When civil war breaks out, I look forward to the two sides showering me with gold to compete for my services.” The woman, a Dunmer with ebony skin, unsheathed a blade and twirled it between her fingers. She was nothing like Gabriella, who moved with a feminine, lethal grace. This Dark Elf sat with her legs spread wide, like a man, and wore utilitarian armour most unlike Gabriella’s Dark Brotherhood robes. “What do the Imperials intend to do in response?”

 

 _Civil war?_ A chill crept across Laelynn’s skin, belying the smoky heat in the room. The public thought that the Stormcloaks killed Vittoria, yet she was looking across at the woman’s assassin. A piece slotted into place and Laelynn felt the floor open beneath her feet. Her stomach dropped.

 

Before she could open her mouth, the Listener spoke over her.

 

“My name is Jyrid.” His eyes were dark, pinning her to the stool and keeping her mouth firmly shut. He subtly shook his head. “Whatever you’re thinking, it can wait until we’re on our way back to Falkreath. Now look.” He jerked his chin. “Our target is leaving.”

 

Laelynn stood and followed Jyrid to the door. The room spun around her, distorted by the shifting smoke. They emerged into the pale afternoon, keeping twenty paces between them and Anoriath as he meandered down onto the plains. Laelynn pushed all thoughts of Vittoria from her mind. Jyrid handed her a bow. 

 

“Go up to him. Pretend to be a fellow hunter and keep him in one spot.” He tied his hair back with a scrap of ribbon. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

 

In the time it took Laelynn to examine the bow in her hands and look back up, Jyrid had disappeared. She swallowed, tasting ash in her mouth. Her footsteps sounded too loud on the cobble as she passed the stables and followed Anoriath into the knee-high grass. Her voice caught and warbled when she called out to him. She tried again.

 

“Hey!”

 

Anoriath turned, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, hello! Do you hunt?”

 

Laelynn’s tongue felt too heavy in her mouth. “Yes. I’m new to the region, and I…”

 

Anoriath had kind, warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners with his constant smile. His head tilted slightly to one side while he listened. Laelynn stopped talking and bit her lip, turning in a slow circle to survey the grassy plains around them. The air was stained with orange and yellow as the sun crept closer to the horizon. Around them, there were barely any places to hide. A few scatterings of craggy outcrops between the long tussocks was hardly enough to hide Jyrid, and he surely couldn’t have crept close without her or Anoriath noticing something. The wind stirred the grass, but aside from that, all was still.

 

“You need to run.” She took Anoriath by the shoulders and shook him. “Go now and go quickly. Don’t look back. Don’t go back to the Huntsman.” Anoriath stumbled when she gave him a little push. “ _Go._ ”

 

He ran. The tightness in Laelynn’s chest eased as she watched him take off down a small hill. Then an arrow whizzed past her ear and her throat closed up. Anoriath fell face first with an arrow between his shoulder blades. He didn’t make a sound while he fell, just crumpled into the grass and didn’t stir. Laelynn slowly turned.

 

Jyrid stood a few paces away, his icy blue eyes blazing with anger.


	6. Travels by Moonlight

He dragged her into a room and slammed the door. They stood in the upstairs of the Bannered Mare, in a tiny, cramped space barely large enough for a narrow bed and a wash basin. Up close, she could see the blond stubble dusting his jaw.

 

“You are suicidal, Breton. Chasing an assassin through Solitude, trying to sabotage a contract.” Jyrid pinched the bridge of his nose, chest heaving with a harsh sigh. “Astrid should have found someone else.”

 

Laelynn pulled away, the backs of her knees catching on the edge of the bed. Jyrid shot out a hand and grabbed her arm, pulling her upright. She hissed through her teeth, yanking her arm free and rolling up her sleeve. The dirty, bloodsoaked strips of her old shirt remained wrapped around the cut on her forearm. Jyrid looked at it and breathed heavily through his nose.

 

“Stay here.”

 

Snippets of sound spilled through the open door but were muffled again when it closed with a loud thwack. Laelynn stood in the empty room, clutching her forearm. It hurt, but then again, every part of Laelynn’s body did. She shifted and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the washbasin.

 

In the dim light, she could just make out a paper-thin, silvery scar on her cheek. She trailed her fingertips along it, remembering Paltus’ breath on her skin and his stench in her nostrils. She was as pale as she remembered, with dark rings around her eyes, but her cheekbones were less pronounced. She ran her fingers over where the hollows of her cheeks had been, to find that they were round. Hunger had not plagued her for weeks. She smoothed a hand over her stomach, feeling the familiar, feminine swell below her navel. It had been years since she had been anything more than scrawny.

 

The door banged open. Jyrid entered the room, motioning for Laelynn to sit on the bed. His thunderous expression made her do so without complaint. He carried a small clay pottle, which he opened to reveal a yellow, herbal-smelling ointment.

 

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” His eyes were dark and his posture stiff, but Jyrid’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he unwrapped the makeshift bandages from Laelynn’s forearm. “There’s a carriage to Falkreath that leaves at first light. We’re not going to tell Astrid about your little lapse.”

 

Laelynn tried not to wince when Jyrid cleaned the gash. “Why?”

 

He didn’t look at her, focused on smearing liberal amounts of the pale yellow paste over her wound. “We needed a new initiate for the Motierre contract. You killed Paltus, Astrid thought it would be ironic for you to take his place, and here we are a month later with no other options.” He pulled the new bandage tight with a roughness that made Laelynn wince.

 

“Who do you owe a blood debt to?” he said.

 

She thumbed the clean wrappings, experimentally flexing her fingers. “Gabriella.”

 

Jyrid snorted. He moved to the door.

 

“You killed Vittoria Vici.”

 

He froze with his fingers on the handle.

 

“She’s the Emperor’s cousin. If everyone thinks Ulfric Stormcloak organised it, the Emperor will need to travel here himself to deal with the aftermath.”

 

Laelynn wasn’t sure he was breathing. He stood preternaturally still, head bowed and shoulders tight.

 

“He’ll be here by Midyear. Motierre wants you to kill the Emperor.”

 

He moved so quickly, Laelynn barely had time to shield her face. But no blow came. She looked through her fingers to see Jyrid towering over her, his glacial eyes harder than frozen stone.

 

“Regardless of what Motierre hired us to do, you are going to help us. You made your bed, Breton.” He moved to the door, standing backlit by the lanterns in the hallway. “Now sleep in it.”

 

Laelynn expected another building-rattling bang, but the door snicked shut quietly. The tension in her body spilled out like floodwater, deflating her until she flopped back onto the bed. She curled in on herself but didn’t sleep a wink.

 

When Jyrid came to fetch her the next morning, she was already awake. Laelynn knew it was morning from the feeble light peeking through the shutters, lighting her way out of the room and downstairs.

 

Taverngoers still occupied the main room at the crack of dawn. Most were fast asleep, bent over their tankards and drunkenly snoring. A few stumbled about, managing to make it to the door and out into the city that was just starting to stir into wakefulness. One man pitched sideways into Jyrid, spilling the remnants of a horn of ale down his front. Jyrid’s fists clenched. He slowly raised his hands to flick the ale from his clothing, turning to glare at the drunkard. But the man only had eyes for Laelynn.

 

His brown hair had more silver in it than she remembered, but it was unmistakably him. A stab of revulsion shuddered through her. She felt the heat of fire on her face, saw a figure writhing in the midst of white-hot flames, hair burning, skin shrivelling…

 

“ _ You. _ ” His slack, drunken features contorted until he looked like one of the gargoyles in Solitude. Even though he swayed on his feet, his dark eyes were focused and intense. “I know you-”

 

“You must be mistaken.” Jyrid smoothly stepped between them. “We’re new to the region.”

 

“She destroyed my farm!” His voice cracked, turning hoarse with grief. “You bitch, you burned down my farm! You killed my Nimriel!” 

 

The man lunged for Laelynn but Jyrid was too quick. He moved fluidly, grabbing the man’s arm and pinning it behind his back. Spittle flew from the man’s lips as he screamed and thrashed. The woman behind the counter shook her head, watching Jyrid march the man to the door and throw him into the street. His face was hard when he turned back.

 

“It’s time for us to go.”

* * *

They had the carriage to themselves, aside from the driver. His name was Bjorlam. He sat at the front, whistling to himself while loosely holding the reins of the two horses drawing the carriage. Laelynn sat opposite Jyrid with her head down. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes until indescribable, dancing patterns danced on the insides of her eyelids. Trying to see them helped her to focus and keep the bile from rising in her throat.

 

“Care to tell me what that was about?”

 

Laelynn surged up and vomited over the side of the carriage. She rested over the edge, her whole body quaking, and tried to spit the acidic sting from her mouth. Every hair on her body prickled. She looked up and saw the small farm passing by through her streaming eyes. She heaved again.

 

Her muscles quivered when she slid back down onto the bench. A dull ache started up in her sternum, pulses of muted pain traveling down her arms and legs. She gripped her amulet tightly and the pain gradually subsided.

 

“That’s Pelagia Farm.” Her voice sounded hollow and empty to her own ears, like she was speaking in an enormous cavern. “That man is Severio Pelagia.”

 

The carriage trundled onwards and the farm passed out of sight. They followed the river, the terrain growing more rugged the further south they went. The bridge and the riverside town came and went. Jyrid and Laelynn remained silent. Day wore into evening then night, the pine trees around them growing denser and darker in the gathering gloom. Laelynn’s shudders subsided and she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

 

When she awoke, moonlight cast the road ahead in a ghostly blue colour. Jyrid was asleep, wrapped in his travelling cloak with only his closed eyes visible. He looked much younger when he slept, with the harsh line of his brows relaxed.

 

Laelynn ran her thumb over her pendant, watching the pine trees pass lazily by. The carriage moved slower than their individual horses, but could travel for much longer periods without rest. She shifted on the wooden bench, stretching out her cramped legs.

 

Up ahead, a small group gathered around a broken cart.

 

“Hey! Over here!” One of the travelers waved his arms. There were four of them in total, all wearing thick winter cloaks with hoods pulled up over their heads. The carriage came to a rumbling halt. “Thank the Divines, you’re the first people we’ve seen all night. Could you help us?”

 

Bjorlam hopped from his seat and walked over, bending to examine the dislodged wheel. Laelynn slid out of the back, rolling her shoulders as she moved towards the horses. Her vertebrae crackled. She heard Bjorlam’s voice but couldn’t make out what he was saying. The horses stood obediently still, their snorts and huffs sending plumes of white into the chilly night air. She raised a hand to pat one on the nose when a scream tore through the forest.

 

One of the travelers had his face pressed into Bjorlam’s neck. Blood spurted when he ripped his face away. It dripped down his chin, staining the fabric of his pale red vest crimson.

 

_ Vampires.  _

 

Laelynn dashed off the road and into the forest. She tore through the trees, branches snapping at her face and drawing blood. She felt it drip down her cheeks and soak into the collar of her jerkin.  _ They can smell it.  _ Her feet pounded against the soil far too loudly, mingling with the sound of her laboured breathing.  _ They can hear me.  _ A shard of ice grazed her ribs, sending her careening to one side mid-jump over a fallen tree. She hit the ground at an odd angle, sending shocks of pain fizzling through her shoulder. 

 

Glowing orange eyes hovered above her. They belonged to the unnaturally beautiful face of a woman, not the male vampire from before. She smiled slowly, showing Laelynn elongated canines. Laelynn’s fingers scrabbled in the dirt but the vampire pinned her arms down, sharp nails digging into her skin. Laelynn screamed. She brought up her knees and kicked, sending the vampire off balance for long enough to grab a fallen branch and smash it into her exquisite, terrifying face. The brittle wood shattered and the vampire’s head barely moved with the blow. Laelynn’s bones creaked from how tightly the vampire pressed her arms down. She felt fangs barely nick her throat when the vampire’s weight was abruptly wrenched away.

 

Jyrid’s blade entered the vampire’s neck with a wet crunch that made Laelynn’s stomach turn. He pulled it free in time to whirl and lunge for another vampire. The creature nimbly jumped out of reach, curling her fist and making a ripping motion. Trickles of glowing red pulsed from Jyrid’s chest and made him falter for just a moment. The vampire surged forwards, clawing for Jyrid’s eyes. He swung his sword in a vicious arc, lodging the metal in the space between the vampire’s neck and shoulders. She fell to her knees. Jyrid yanked his blade free and plunged it into the vampire’s chest, all the way up to the hilt.

 

Two others appeared between the trees. Jyrid twisted, leaving his sword lodged in the fallen vampire, and advanced with twin daggers flashing in his hands. He dispensed death with every blow, dipping and spinning like he was engaged in a dance of death with the two creatures. To Laelynn he appeared frightening and enchanting all at once, like some ancient god of war and destruction. The vampires fell before they had a chance to hurl any more splinters of ice.   
  


“Are you hurt?” He put a boot on the vampire’s chest so he could pull his sword free. The squelch sent a shudder down Laelynn’s spine.

 

She rose on shaking legs. Her entire upper body ached, but she didn’t think anything was broken. “I’m fine.”

 

“Good. Follow me.”

 

Laelynn thought she had made good ground in her flight through the forest, but she and Jyrid reached the road in less than a minute. Poor Bjorlam lay crumpled near the broken cart. His throat was ripped wide open, exposing pale bone to the cold night air. Jyrid swiftly dealt with another vampire who was bent over the corpse, lapping blood from Bjorlam’s weeping neck.

 

“More will come,” Jyrid said.

 

The horses had dragged the carriage up the road. Laelynn could see the whites of their eyes as she and Jyrid came up alongside them. Jyrid unhooked them from the carriage, murmuring softly until they calmed.

 

Laelynn’s head spun dangerously. She peeled the blood-soaked clothing away from the ragged wound on her side. It was an uneven tear, ugly and weeping. The scratches on her arms burned. She looked up to see Jyrid staring at her with a stonelike expression, then he tipped precariously to the side. But so did the horses, and the trees, and the sky. Her temple connected with the ground first.


	7. Infection

Laelynn felt herself being lifted onto a horse. Her vision wavered. She could see pine trees moving past in a blur of green and white, and stars whirled before her eyes so quickly she thought she might be sick. Why was she on her back? Jyrid’s shadow fell over her face. His lips were moving, but she couldn’t make out the words.

 

One moment she was in the icy air of the pine forests, the next she found herself on a cot in the Sanctuary. The walls shimmered and warped, swaying inwards towards her and then exploding outwards until she was a tiny speck in an enormous cavern. Gabriella’s face hovered closeby, then she was gone. Laelynn heard shouts from nearby. They rang in her ears for hours. Or was it minutes?

 

Severio loomed above her, his lips splitting to show far too many teeth. Then he morphed into a horse’s head with wide, rolling eyes and spit frothing at the edges of his mouth. She tried to scream but Anoriath clapped a hand over her mouth. Blaise ran towards her, wilting like a flower set aflame. He curled to ash at her feet.

 

“What is that?” a voice boomed. It sounded like Jyrid’s. Laelynn could see him at the edges of her fading vision. He wore Cicero’s clothes and danced around the room, swinging daggers at passing vampires like they were blades of grass.

 

“My failsafe.” That was Babette’s sneering voice. The girl’s malicious features in the corner of her eye made Laelynn recoil and hit her head against something hard.

 

The room shimmered, sheens of purple and yellow curling across the stone like an oil slick. A candle fell from the wall and ignited it. The flames licked across the stone, searing Laelynn’s skin and melting her lips together. She heard a woman screaming while the room spun and spun. Laelynn’s vision wavered and threatened to go black.

 

A hard hand gripped her chin while another forced her mouth open, ripping her melted lips apart. Laelynn felt a wail tear her throat but couldn’t hear it because her ears were filled with water. It crept into her nostrils and down her throat, plugging her lungs. She was drowning.

 

Something blue and bitter crawled sluggishly through her system. It burned like fire but felt like stone in her veins. Her head was so heavy she couldn’t even move her eyes.

 

“You slimy, malicious piece of shit—”

 

“Gabriella, please.”

 

“She hid the cure so that she could infect us and hold it hostage if one of us stepped out of line!”

 

The voices sounded like they were coming from above the surface of a deep, deep lake. Laelynn tried to swim up but the stone in her veins dragged her to the lakebed.

 

“Why shouldn’t I keep something up my sleeve if it’s the only way to get a little respect around here?”

 

“Astrid  _ will  _ hear about this.”

 

Sounds lost all meaning. Laelynn closed her eyes and let the water carry her away.

 

She woke to soft hands combing through her hair. A sweet, lilting voice sang a child’s lullaby, growing louder the closer Laelynn swam to consciousness. Her breathing slowed and her panicked, fluttering heartbeat evened out. She cracked open an eye, catching sight of a ragged stone ceiling and Gabriella’s red, red eyes. They were the colour of bloodsoaked dirt.

 

Gabriella’s veneer of sarcasm and impatience snapped into place when she saw Laelynn come to. Her movements turned abrasive, the wet cloth she daubed over Laelynn’s brow now painful.

 

“Good, you’re awake.”

 

She tossed the cloth into a wooden bowl and rose. Laelynn sat up, wincing at every bruise and ache that sparked when her skin brushed against the mattress. When she moved, sharp pain lanced through her abdomen and made her cry out. Gabriella paused halfway across the bedchamber and turned to her with a raised eyebrow.

 

“What is it now?”

 

Laelynn pressed a hand over her lower stomach.  _ By the crypt, that hurts. _ She shifted in place and felt something hot and sticky between her legs. She lifted the blanket. A small circle of blood stained the mattress.

 

“My cycle started.” She let the blanket drop and leaned her head against the wall. It had been months since the last time. A fresh cramp swept through her and she groaned.

 

“Wait here.” Gabriella swept over to the stairs on the other side of the bedchamber. They led down to the kitchen and dining room; Laelynn heard cutlery clinking against plates from below. Gabriella returned with a wooden tray.

 

She passed Laelynn a steaming cup. The tea tasted pleasantly floral, with notes of mint that lingered on her tongue.

 

“None of the others understand.” The tray also held a number of multicoloured bottles. Gabriella set them sharply on the wooden side table. “Men are clueless. Veezara tries to be accomodating, but Argonians don’t birth live young. He’s never had to encounter a woman’s cycle before.” She unstoppered a small green bottle and poured it into a cup of water. “Here, this will help with the cramps.”

 

Laelynn took a tentative sip. Overpoweringly herbal to the point of spiciness, the tincture burned her mouth. She spat it over the side of the bed. “What  _ is  _ that?”

 

“You’re supposed to drink it in one go, silly girl. Do you want my help, or not?”

 

Laelynn pinched her nose with one hand and gagged it down. She shuddered as the tincture slid down her throat, then reached for the hot tea to cleanse the bitter taste from her mouth. Her arms burned with the movement.

 

“I’ll get you a few rags you can use.” Gabriella took the empty tray and headed for the corridor. “Don’t expect me to wash them for you.”

 

“Thank you, Gabriella.”

 

Gabriella’s lips curled up into a very small smile before she disappeared. Laelynn lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. The fact that Gabriella could have easily poisoned her didn’t even cross her mind. She didn’t intend to sleep, but it consumed her nonetheless.

 

Festus was leaning over her bed. Awareness instantly snapped through her and she jerked away, but he had her amulet in his hand. The dark stone at its centre gleamed every time he ran his thumb over it. Laelynn snatched it from him, ignoring the pain that wracked her body when she hastily sat up. The deep wrinkles around Festus’ eyes turned even deeper when he grinned.

 

“You’re very twitchy today, young pup.” He pulled a stool over and sat next to her bed. “That craftsmanship is very recognisable. It didn’t happen to be made by a certain ex-professor of Conjuration at the College of Winterhold, did it?”

 

Laelynn stuffed the pendant down the front of her shirt. “It’s a family heirloom.”

 

“Right.” Festus snorted. “A nobody Breton from nowhere has a family heirloom worth passing down. I hope your training will include becoming a better liar, because that was just pathetic.”

 

Festus was bald, but up close, Laelynn saw that his head had been shaved. A faint shadow of hair covered the outline of his skull. He pushed up his sleeves, revealing wrinkled, scabby hands with puckered scars near the knuckles. Golden light threaded between his fingers like very fine yarn. He brought them close to Laelynn’s side but she caught his wrist in her hand. Festus’ eyes flared wide when Laelynn squeezed his arm hard enough to feel the bones shift beneath her fingers.

 

“This is the last time you try to do something to me without my permission.”

 

She released him and Festus rubbed his wrist with a deep scowl. “You should be grateful I am deigning to expend precious magicka on healing you at all, Breton.”

 

“I don’t need it.”

 

Festus arched a brow. His grey eyes dropped to the scratches along Laelynn’s arms. She hid them under the covers, ignoring the pulse of pain from her ribs when she shifted.

 

“Don’t be young and stupid. Astrid wants you out on more contracts, but you can’t very well do that when you nearly died. My guess is you can’t even walk without collapsing.”

 

“I nearly died?” Laelynn asked quietly. 

 

“Oh, yes. You contracted Sanguinare Vampiris—nasty virus, that. Most people die from it, but the lucky ones… well. They turn out like Babette.”

 

Laelynn went cold. She examined the thin scratches on her arms, running her thumb over the crescent-shaped nail marks. She had guessed at Babette’s nature, but to hear it confirmed made her hairs stand on end. 

 

“How old is Babette?”

 

Festus shrugged. “Old. She was alive during the Oblivion Crisis.”

 

_ Over two hundred years.  _ Laelynn steadied herself against the mattress. “I’d like that healing now.”

 

Festus rubbed his hands together and set to work.


End file.
